


All My Days

by jaredsmole



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic Dean, Angry Dean, Bisexual Dean, Blood, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Car Accidents, Dean-Centric, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Dean, Hands, Hatred, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dean, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Making Out, Mark of Cain, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Multi, Murder, Nostalgia, One Night Stands, Past Relationship(s), Sad, Self-Denial, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Violent Thoughts, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 19:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5509868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaredsmole/pseuds/jaredsmole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was a peculiar case, Dean Winchester. Nonetheless, a fun one to examine. Enjoy, my loves, these are everything and anything small I've written relating to the green eyed Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Sides

It makes you flustered to think about angry Dean. It makes your hands shake at the thought of his strong arms pushing you against the wall and ferociously kissing your mouth, nipping and biting at your lip. He'd pin your shoulders back so you couldn't move, groaning with each breath. It would be breathy and sloppy, him eventually running his long fingers all over your body, making you sweat, and he knows exactly what he's doing. His hands leave bruises on your thighs and hips, his teeth leave gorgeous bites all down your neck. He gets a hungry look in his eyes, a shade of red and pure ferocity that sets you over the edge. On nights like these, he would take control and tease you, and take his sweet damn time doing so. It's hard and rough, not what you're used to, but hey, you have to blow off steam somehow. 

Dean is gentle with you most of the time. The buildup is sweet and passionate, molding you together by the mouth and pressing circles into each other's skin. It's still fast paced, but with more gusto and passion. His kisses have meaning and cause your toes to curl as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. his hot breath on your ear makes you instinctively put your hands in his hair, him caressing every inch of your body, like it was the last time he would ever touch it. He takes his time, kissing everywhere he can, brushing his hands over every curve and every inch of skin, you'd obviously do the same to him. Nights like these would end in whispers about the universe until you fell asleep in his arms.


	2. Day 2: Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never knew what love was until him.

He fell out of love just as quickly as he fell into it, hard. Desperately. He attempted to drown out the sensations with one night stands and drowning his blood in alcohol, but he could never shake the feeling of his first love. He couldn’t stop the feeling of forced hatred growing inside him, he denied it with every fiber of his being, but as his first love yelled profanities at his back as he left for the road, he couldn’t help his mind inching closer to the beginning. The waves of nostalgia hit him as he pushed himself into the driver’s seat, he thought about how they would scream Eagles lyrics at the top of their lungs on Route 50, windows down, stars in their eyes, he pondered about his hands on his love’s thighs, how he would have his way with him in the backseat of his car on the side of the road, not a care in the world. He wondered what it would have been like to say “I love you”, even though both knew how they felt for each other, he wondered what his love would do as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. The sun set on his side, the almost deserted highway engulfed in yellow. His love was fascinated with the heavens. He always wondered why, being an angel, his love should have knowledge about the bodies occupying the galaxy. Alas, late nights were for hushed discussions about Jupiter and its moons in a crusty motel room, imagining the stars on the ceiling and the oceans at the foot of the bed. It was always one of his love’s weird passions. He had a passion for supermarkets, bees in the spring, heavenly bodies, and, most importantly, him. But, that was then, He had a passion for him. As he drove through the long, twisting roads, feeling like he was traveling for years, he realized: his first love was the one that got away. He could have held on, but it was just his personality. He needed to push everything away, he needed suppress what was real inside of him. He couldn’t help it, his mind said “yes”, but his foot still hit the gas pedal, no signs of turning back. He was terrified. He was terrified to be in love, so he forced himself to fall out of it, hard. Desperately.


	3. Day 3: Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Number 15 on the drabble games list: I found this waterfall...

I found this waterfall I’d like to show you someday. It could be our spot. It’s deep in the trail that you always hike in, hidden behind broken branches and brown hills.The rocks jut out from underneath it, creating a secret tunnel behind the water. I didn’t go in it, I thought you’d like to go in there with me. The oasis looks like a mermaid hub, the water glowing under the stars and the trees hiding it from the rest of the world. Maybe there are mermaids there, that’s why I want you to see it. It made me think of you, since your eyes always remind of the earthy forests that surround us. The waterfall reminds me of your body and how it works, the way every piece fits and molds together to create something beautiful. I can just see you trying to recreate the lake scene from Dirty Dancing with me, so please, baby, wear a black tank top. I’ll bring my best records and red lipstick. This place is entrancing. I think we could fall in love here, right under the splashing end of the river. Not like I already haven’t, of course.


	4. Day 4: Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard knowing the one you love doesn't love himself.

Why is someone who is so full of love incapable of being in love? It’s simple: he hasn’t loved himself first. He was always out saving people, but never found the time to save himself. If he kept himself busy, he could possibly forget he even exists, but no, the lonely nights were filled with violent thoughts. He could only stay alive for Sam. Sam has grounded him and talked him out of suicide many times, if Sam left, his life would be over. So, he stays. But how long will he keep fighting himself?

No one I’ve ever known has had a lower self image than him. He is the most courageous man I know, He’s saved more lives than he’s killed, but the faces of those he let down haunt him. He knows a thing or two about death, why does it bother him so much? He’s been held accountable for the innocent lives he’s lost, which is truly unfair. Does he know about how much good is inside him? Does he suppress it to feel better long term? I can hear the screams bursting inside him, he needs to be saved. It’s not my battle to fight, though, he has to save himself first. He needs to stop running from what’s inside him, he needs to know that it’s okay to need help. I want him to know that he’s beautiful, I want him to see him like I see him, just once.


	5. Day 5: Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The color of wine doesn't seem so tasty anymore.

Blood. Blood everywhere. He knelt down on what seemed like the endless hardwood floors, but the walls still seemed to cave in around him. Bursts of copper seep their way into the crooks of the wall and floor, soaking in the cheap materials of the bodies laid askew around him. He heaved, he couldn't remember what had happened, nor why it happened. He looked around, the lifeless forms in a circle around him, enclosing him in the space of his thoughts. He dropped the blade he had held with a death grip to the ground, seeing the damage it had done to not only him, but the others around him. He brought his hand up to his face, wiping the blood that seeped out of a cut on his cheekbone. The crimson liquid seemed to be a theme in his world, though it was meant to stay inside the body, he's seen too much of it pouring out of holes and scratches. He heard a crack of lightning in the distance, signaling rainfall. He looked over to the one window in the room, still breathing heavy. It was dusk. He sighed as he got onto his feet, feeling tears form on his misty eyes. He held them back, right arm suddenly shaking. He wanted to kill. No, he  _needed_ to kill. His slender fingers twitched in the direction of the blade he once held, the blade he used to end the lives of the innocent just moments ago. He looked down at the trembling limb, the underneath of his fingernails dark. He found control in his hand, turning it over to look at his palm. Every crack was scarlet, as if a painter had brushed his whole palm in the hue and set it to dry for years. He squeezed his eyes shut, a migraine coming upon him. His formerly even breaths were frantic once again, no sign of slowing down. He felt his feet move beneath him, pacing around the tiny circle he had to himself. His hand found his face as he dabbed his lip in thought, brushing his fingers over his scruffy chin. He had to resist. He didn't know why he needed to resist, he had forgotten. He felt his right arm spasm again, and quickly went to grab it. He felt a rise in skin on his forearm, and suddenly remembered. His thumb smoothed over it for a slit second, before his hand was scrambling for the weathered blade on the floor. He examined it for a moment, before driving it into one of the many bodies on the ground. Repetitively. Vermillion spritzed across his nose from the wound, the dots lining up with the freckles on his cheeks. He could feel the bloodlust trembling in his fingers, and he could feel a smirk on his face. More blood. 


	6. Day 6: Necklace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were my best mistake.

The first time I saw you, a shiver caused my body to jolt into a new reality. I was sitting adjacent to you at this local, dingy diner that you would have probably missed on your drive here. You were sitting alone, cradling a cup of coffee, which I knew was black, staring off into your own personal galaxy in the corner of the room, not at me. Never at me.  
The whole scene was drab, red lights from the police cars in the night illuminating your chiseled face, then you start looking down sporadically at your watch.  
I thought I was dreaming of those lips. Imagining the slight tendons jutting out of your neck as you would turn to the window suddenly. I knew you would feel a set of eyes on you eventually. I could feel your glossy eyes pierce right through my own, you would get up suddenly and cause a gust of wind as you rushed out. A ghost of your presence.

The second time I saw you, I remember thinking I wanted it to be under different circumstances. I was a target, apparently. A target of something I never did want to understand, but now I can’t erase the knowledge. I was dangling from the low ceiling of a once-abandoned room by a rope wound around my wrists, falling in and out of lucid dreams. I would see flashes of various men, some with tattoos blossoming on their cheeks, others with pure darkness for eyes. The last time I opened my eyes, I saw you. 

Every instance we met under was dire and life-threatening. Bloody, dirty, half dead instances. The dried blood on your face always did make your eyes pop. We never did know each other’s names. One of us would always say, “You okay?” and the other would pant, “Gotta be”. From the first time we met eyes, I wanted to live a life with you, like you. I never could understand you.

I finally learned your name, from some other hunters at a roadhouse. They said you’re trouble. I still wanted you.

The last time we met, you said you would teach me just what fast is. In a grungy motel suite. The fluorescence from the city pouring in from the small window. You would press your body flush against mine, my back on the cool wall. I could taste the whiskey on your lips and, wait, is that cinnamon? My mind was only bursting into colors of purples and blues as you sprinkled bites down my neck to my collarbone, breaths frantic. Your hands were moving all over me, I could feel every callous brush against my shoulder, my back, my thighs. You left bruises everywhere you touched. I didn’t mind. 

Only when I tangled my fingers in your short hair did you stop. You didn’t just stopped, you pulled away from me. I felt shivers run up my arms instead of your mouth. A ghost of where you once were. You backed away from me. I felt myself shake as I saw something in your eyes that wasn’t lust. It was pure darkness. you were panting, your hair mussed and eyebrows furrowed, slowly turning away from me. Finding escape in that stupid car than in me. 

You left your necklace, by the way.


End file.
